


Scales of Justice

by CIIX



Category: Dragonlance - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman, Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Dragons, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 22:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20347750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CIIX/pseuds/CIIX
Summary: Description coming, but the premise of this is...what if I took my version of Bahamut from Dungeons and Dragons and threw him at Eorzea?  Hilarity ensues?





	1. Coming to Gridania

The ride to Gridania was ploddingly slow, the rhythmic motion of the carriage tempting him with the sweet embrace of sleep. The encroaching fatigue left his head bowed, the hood of his robe falling low over his snout, hands draped in heavy fabric.

The periodic flash of sunlight reflecting off his platinum locks was all that kept him from sleep.

But he wanted to. 

So much.

A heaviness had worn on him since he first came to this world— a dragging weight that his ex-wife, had not warned him of.

Galen rumbled, eyes drooping toward the floor of the carriage

_ Hear. Feel. Think. _

He repeated the mantra, attempting to fight the fatigue…yet it only grew, eyes closing as he nodded off.

They opened to millions of stars.

Gone were the heavy gray robes, the cloak, the furs— his true form laid bare before the sea of stars.

Six great wings of platinum rose from his back, each spread wide, their edges tipped in gold. 

Gleaming golden armor spread over his thorax, trailing down his forelegs. 

Yet those details were all dimmed into insignificance. 

For upon his head lay a crown— a diadem of shining gold. It’s long prongs framed and protected his horns, it’s center holding a jewel of purest sunlight.

His own star.

_ King Bahamut…  _

The Platinum Dragon turned to his name called, eyes like blue-white stars focused upon a central, radiant point. 

That was his name, but no one he was fond of being referred to.

The voice came from a single glowing orb.

“Who…”

The glowing orb shrank into a cloud of darkness…

From that darkness stepped a being, a shadow.

He could smell it, a stench of existence itself rotting away. Matter ripping apart, atom by atom, particle by particle. A taint of corruption as matter coalesced into the shadowy shape, consuming it. And then, a low, golden note rang out. He knew them all.

_ An Abomination from the Outside. _

He straightened his back and his tail swung behind him. From an outstretched claw came energy gathering into the palm. He clasped the claw tight into a fist and the ball formed into a long, pale cyan blade. Both hands took hold of the hilt and he swung at the shadowy shape. At the moment of his downward stroke, his vision filled with white and then black.

“Oi!”

Galen was startled awake and lowered his head down, lifting a claw to his hooded head. Whoever it was that called to him, was this what they were hoping to show him. This world could be possibly tainted by the Far Realm? Was this why his ex-wife sent him here, sent him from his home to deal with possible Far Realm contamination on some world lost since the Vecna War?

A world sundered from what he could tell standing so close to its parent star. Should he pull out the cords and made a report, or wait? Still, the weariness lingers. Why did this world tire him so?

“I say, ‘oi’!” called a voice. 

His eyes came to focus upon what the locals of this world referred to as a Hyur. But to him, this man was just a  _ human.  _ He was dark skinned, wore a turban decorated with fancy beads and wore a shirt of saffron silk. A rather wealthy merchant, but his face was weathered from the long days in the sun traveling. 

He had a kind smile though.

“Oi!” the man called.

Galen gave a shake to his head under the hood.

“Y’all right, lad?”

“Where I come from ‘y’all’ is the plural form of you,” Galen remarked. “And mostly said by what we call ‘Southerners’.”

“Different ways to say it,” said the man.

Galen shivered and gripped his robes tighter.

“Just noticing how ye were moanin’ in your sleep, sweatin’ buckets besides,” said the merchant.

_ Besides what?  _ He wanted to ask, but decided to keep his jaws sealed.

“That’ll be the aether, I reckon,” the man continued. “Some are more prone to sickness than others.”

_ Aether sickness...is that what’s making me weary? _

“No need to fret. You’ll soon get used to it.”

The merchant took hold of a green bottle. The moment he uncorked it, Galen could smell the strong scent of wine. The man took a moment to smell the bottle, a curl of a smile appeared upon his lips. Then he proceeded to down a hearty gulp. All Galen could think was:  _ I could use some of that. _

Just as he was finished with his swig, the merchant set the bottle down.

Galen then turned his eyes to the other riders of this carriage without wheels, being pulled by two rather large, yellow birds called chocobos. On the opposite end were twins, members of the race called Elezan. He would liken them to  _ elves _ back home, having long pointed ears, and being rather lean and tall. They both had white hair despite their youthful age, done up in a braided ponytail. The boy’s hair was tied in a black ribbon, and the girl’s a red ribbon. They were asleep, the girl leaning against her brother’s shoulder. Despite being different sexes, they nearly look completely identical.

Rather strange for fraternal twins.

His frilled ears twitched at the sound of a loud horn blowing near the opening of the carriage. He turned to find cream-colored puffball-like creatures with squinty eyes and round, pink noses. On top of their heads was a single antenna topped with a glowing, orange pompom. They hovered, their little black, bat-like wings fluttered to keep them aloft. The larger of the two held out a horn and blew it, taking note that Galen had seen them. Though, they did not flee from his sight. Instead, they came closer.

“Feeling better, kupo?” the larger one asked.

Galen merely dipped his head, still a little curious why the other people in the carriage did not see these floating, fuzzy things like he did. Was this world making him finally lose it?

“Oh, so you  _ can _ see us!” the larger creature giggled. “I had a feeling you could, kupo!”

Galen continued to look to the other passengers and then back to the fuzzy creatures.

“We’re moogles, and we live in this wood!”

The smaller of the two moogles floated closer to the merchant and then reached down and grabbed the bottle of wine. It tilted its head back and downed the entire bottle in one gulp. Galen reached out, but then lowered his claw. Did anyone see at least a floating bottle?

“Normal folks can’t see us or hear us,” said the larger moogle. “So, that makes you  _ special,  _ kupo.”

_ Special as in losing my mind, apparently. This whole planet is getting to me. _

“Seeing as how you’re special, maybe you can tell us something,” said the moogle. “The wood has been restless of late––lots of strange things happening. Have you by chance witnessed anything strange, kupo?”

Finally deciding not to remain silent, he instead projected to the moogle’s mind.

_ “You mean, excluding you two?” _

The smaller moogle then giggled.

“Hah! I was right!” it said to the larger one. “I knew he was a dragon. Now you owe me some gil!”

“Indeed,” said the larger. “Well, besides us, then.”

_ “No.”  _ Galen replied, wagging his head softly.  _ “I have not.” _

“Of course you haven’t,” the larger one sighed. “You’ve only just arrived. Well, there’s nothing for it then––we’ll just have to keep looking. Nice to meet you, kupo!”

And with that, the two moogles swiftly flew away, vanishing behind the lush, green foliage.

The traveling merchant reached for his bottle of wine once more, smelling it with a smile before tilting his head back for another drink. Only, now the bottle was empty. He peered into the bottle through the opening, a look of shock to note there was none to be found. However, just as the Moogles had told Galen, no one else could see them except for him. He suspected that if he had informed his traveling companion, he would be looked at as insane as to who just stole the last of his wine. Instead, the merchant placed the bottle under his legs and shook his head. He raised his weathered face towards Galen once more with a smile.

“Gridania is still a ways off, in case you were wondering,” he said, leaning his elbows upon his lap. “Seein’ as you’re awake, how about you keepin’ me company until then.”

“Sure,” Galen replied. Perhaps he could learn something from this merchant about this world he was in. He could never keep up with all the worlds, especially the ones that were lost during the Great Rift. So many were left unrecovered since that time. It was by fortune’s grace that this world had been discovered adrift in the blackness between realities, still clinging upon the fragment of its original dimension by a thread. That was the first sign Galen had noticed upon his arrival. Others so far were nothing more than shadows in a mist, hidden even to his far-reaching gaze. So, the best course of action was to involve himself with the local populace and perhaps through his mingling, he could gleem what it was that befelled this particular world.

What effect did the Great Rip had upon it? Could it be rejoined with the other realities? Was it safe to do so?

“Them youngin’s don’t care for much conversation, see?” the merchant said, motioning to the white-haired twins dozing.

He then straightened his back and pointed upon himself with a thumnb

“Bremondt’s the name, and peddlin’s me trade,” he said. “As for yourself, judging about your garments, I’d say you’re the adventuring sort.”

“I suppose I am on an adventure,” said Galen.

“Figured as much,” said Bremondt. “A risky business, adventurin’. Going from place to place, letting the wind take you wherever it blows. So long as you can avoid dyin’, of course. What was the first thing that attracted you to it?”

“I’m on an adventure of discovery,” Galen replied.

“Discovery? Well, the Shroud is full of mysteries waitin’ to be solved. You’ll find plenty of that here and more. There is an Adventurers’ Guild in Gridania, they may be able to provide you with some insight to kick off your adventure. ‘Tis where most adventurers go. Plenty of food and drink, as well as a place to rest.”

“So, Adventurers are form of trade here?”

“Well, most who can, often do,” he replied. “They help with the dangerous works regular folks like m’self aren’t accustomed to.”

“I see,” said Galen.

Suddenly, the carriage swiftly came to a stop. Galen peered out the window to find an Elezan, masked and bearing a lance standing in the road.

“What’s all this then?” Bremondt asked.

There was a rushing sound as an arrow came shooting through the window. Faster than the arrow could make its mark, Galen had caught it in his platinum paw. Both Bremondt and the twins were startled sober. One of the twins, the young woman stared straight at Galen, her dark blue eyes bulging wide.

“Twelve take me,” Bremondt gasped, clutching at his chest.

Galen then turned towards the direction in which the arrow had come from. Up ahead was a small battle, men of Gridania fighting what looked to be tall, barely feathered, bird-like creatures.

“What’s going on?” the driver called to the man with the lance.

“A skirmish has broken out with the Ixal,” he replied. “For your safety, you must remain here until…”

Archers from Gridania came out from behind the trees to meet with Ixal bearing swords and shields.

“Bloody hells!” said the lancer. “We’ll have to hold them here. Try to break for it!”

The driver pulled on foward in a rush and Galen spied the fight, his eyes narrowing.

Bremondt sighed: “That was too bleedin’ close. Nice of the Ixal to send us a welcoming party. All jokes aside, this won’t be the last time you’ll meet with them feathered fiends, so just take care, alright?”

“Right,” said Galen.

“By the way, is this your first trip to Gridania?”

“Yes.”

“Well then,” his companion continued. “Let this journeyed itinerant tell you the ins and outs of your destination!”

They slowly passed over a bridge nearly a few steps away from a large cascading waterfall.

“Gridinia is nestled right smack in the middle of the Black Shroud,” said Bremondt. “The luscious forest in all of Eorzea. Though it ain’t near as lush as it used to be. Not since the Calamity laid half of it to waste. The destruction prompted a new herd of nasties to move in an’ gave the Ixal unneeded encouragement. The birdmen’s raids have been nearly a daily occurrence.”

“Could you tell me more about this Calamity?” Galen asked.

“What parts are you from that you don’t know of the Calamity that befell Eorzea five years ago?”

“I suppose I come from someplace where this Calamity has not touched,” Galen replied.

“The Calamity was caused when the lesser moon, Dalamud came tumblin’ from the heavens. Right before it hit, out burst a massive creature. A primal so say the scholars. The Dreadwyrm. Then, as soon as the creature had arrived and turned a good portion of Eorzea to ash, the Dreadwyrm vanished. No one knew exactly why or where it went. But it ain’t been back since.”

“The lesser moon?”

“Aye,” said Bremondt. “Was nothing more than a pale pink speck which followed the greater moon around. Was granted the name Hound of Menfina. Now, the folks call it Menfina’s little bitch for all the trouble it caused us.”

“I suppose a fallen moon would be enough to cause this Calamity,” said Galen. “But this Dreadwyrm on top of it.”

He paused to scratch his chin.

“Interesting.”

Then, he glanced just momentarily to find the female twin still staring straight at him.

“Sister,” said her brother. “Don’t stare.”

She averted her eyes from Galen to peer upon her shoes.

“Behold, Gridania!” Bremondt called. “The forest nation blessed by the elementals.”

Galen turned to look out the window as the carriage came to a slow stop before a great woodland city. Rotunda buildings with gold and green stained glass windows dotted the landscape, built from the wood of the great trees, and woven within their branches. A waterwheel churned from a fall, providing some power of this city. Cobblestone paths marked the trek to a crystalline construction afloat at the center of the plaza. Galen noted it was called an Aetherite, a mode of fast travel for the people on this wayward world so far flung from The Nine.

Slowly, he hopped from the carriage followed by his merchant companion.

“And here you are, lad,” said Bremondt. “I’m off to sell me wares. Then it’s off to the highroad for me.”

“I appreciate the talk,” Galen said.

“You never did tell me your name.”

“Galen,” he said. “Galen Garath.”

“Galen Garath. Well, hope you will become a storied personage I can brag about on me long trips, then. I’ll consider us square.”

Galen grinned from beneath the hood.

“Perhaps one day I can at last take a gander at what’s beneath that hood of yours,” said Bremondt.

“Maybe,” said Galen. “But I’ll give you a hint. I’m a bit ugly. At least to folks like yourself.”

Bremondt chuckled and began to walk away: “Take care of yourself, then.”

The twins also disembarked and went on their way. The girl cast one wayward glance back to Galen before speeding off to catch up with her brother. Galen took a deep breath and returned to his approach to the gate. Passing by him to and fro were various people of all the races of Eorzea. Adventurers, he suspected. There were ones dressed in robes and wizard hats, in chainmail armor, or plate, leather armor. The wizard hats put him a little off guard for he had not seen the old cliche look of a wizard in a long time. People of magical power rarely looked the part, favoring to look like ordinary folks, dressed in whatever was stylish for the time back on Earth. Not on worlds like Faerûn, Earth’s link world Oereath, or Abir-Toril did he see anyone dressed in a pointy wizard or witche’s hat. It was nearly a trip back through time to see them once again...for him at least. He nearly snickered, but a guard at the gate broke his thoughts.

“You there!”

Galen paused and pointed at himself.

“Yes, you. Your face is not known to me. Newly arrived to the city, I see.”

“Uh, yes,” said Galen. “Am I in trouble?”

“Nay, nothing of the sort,” the Elezan lancer replied. “I must see to all new arrivals. I am Bertennant, Wood Wailer of Gridania. It is my duty to protect Gridania from her enemies, while also welcoming those who may yet prove to be her friends. Let us see which you are.”

“I assure you I’m...the friend kind,” said Galen. “Not the enemy kind.”

Galen came walking slowly towards him and Bertennant looked him up and down, his eyes narrowing through the mask.

“Another green adventurer, I presume?”

“Yes,” Galen said.

“I thought as much. We cannot allow strangers to run freely through the city unchecked and untested. Before you go wandering off to pester every second citizen for work, I suggest you stop by at the Caroline Canopy and check yourself in. That is the headquarters of the local Adventurer’s Guild, if you are wondering.”

“I believe I was advised on my way over here to do just that,” said Galen.

“Good,” he said. “Speak with Mother Miounne, she is the proprietress of the guild.”

“Thank you,” Galen said as he headed for the large rotunda building. He hoped to swiftly check in and perhaps get a room to rest. Whatever this aether sickness was, it only made his feet heavier and heavier. Even the robes he wore became rather burdensome to his shoulders. Out of the prying eyes of the populace, he hoped to shed them and the collapse upon a bed, with his wings all strewn over the edges, and his tail a deadweight upon the floor. Though he had a duty on this world, he was in no rush to complete it. Rest beckoned him first.

He slowly walked into the Caroline Canopy. The room looked more like it was carved from the wood of the trees rather than built, with graceful curling columns and filigree arches. There was an innkeeper at a desk taking weary adventurers wanting to turn in for the night after a long day’s work. And then there was a tall Elezan woman with mousy short hair at a reception desk near the innkeeper. This was perhaps Mother Miounne the wood wailer spoke of. Galen slowly approached her and she glanced up from her work and a polite, warm smile graced her face.

“Well, look what we have here,” she began. “Another wide-eyed wandering adventure come to put your name down at the guild, I presume?”

Galen grinned from her greeting.

“I am,” he replied. “I have to register to make sure everyone knows I’m here?”

“That’s right,” she said. “Just sign here.”

She handed him a guestbook and a quill and Galen promptly scratched his name on the empty line. She took the book back and looked upon his name.

“Galen Garath is it?” she asked. “And this is not an alias, I presume?”

“It isn’t,” said Galen. “It’s the name I want people to know me as.”

“Welcome, Galen. Miounne is my name. Mother Miounne as most have come to call me. And Caroline’s Canopy is my place.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’m rather shocked no one is suspecting my hooded self here.”

“We have plenty of cowled conjurers here,” she said. “The hood is no stranger to me. I can tell by your voice alone that we’ve naught to fret from you.”

She looked around and spread her arms wide.

“As the head of the Adventurers’ Guild, I have the honor of providing guidance to the fledgling heroes who pass through our gates. No matter the ambitions, the Guild is here to help you attain them.”

“That’s nice of you,” said Galen. “I am on an adventure of discovery. I wish to learn all I can.”

“Well, you’ve found no better than Gridania,” said Miounne. “But in return, we do expect you to fulfill your duties to the people of Gridania. Sounds like a fair deal, don’t you agree? To an outsider’s eye, all may seem well in our nation. But naught could be further from the truth. The people live in a state of constant apprehension. The Ixal and various gangs of bandits provide a constant supply of trouble––trouble compounded by the ever present threat of the Garlean Empire. And that’s to say nothing of the Calamity. Even now, the wounds have barely begun to heal. Ah, but I speak of it as if you were there. Forgive me. ‘Tis why we require the services of adventurers like yourself.”

“No problem,” Galen. “Can you tell me more about this Calamity, then?”

“Oh, of course,” she nodded. “Five years past, Eorzea was well nigh laid to waste when a dread wyrm emerged from the lesser moon Dalamud, and rained fire upon the realm. It is which this is what people refer to as the ‘Calamity’. Scarcely a malm of the Twelves Wood was spared the devastation. Yet, despite the forest’s extensive wounds, naught a soul among us can recall precisely how it all happened.”

“You’ve all lost your memory of this Calamity? Or at least it’s details?”

“I am well aware of how improbable that must sound to an outsider,” she replied. “It does seem very improbable! But it is also true. For reasons we can ill explain, the facts surrounding the Calamity are shrouded in mystery. There are as many versions of the events as many as people are willing to recount them. And yet, amid the hazy recollections and many accounts, all can agree that Eorzea was saved by a band of valiant adventurers. Whatever else we’ve misremembered, none of us can forget the heroes who risked life and limb for the sake of the realm. And yet, whenever we try to say their names, the words die upon our lips. Whenever we try to recall their faces to mind, we see naught but silhouettes amidst a blinding glare. Thus have these Adventures became known as the Warriors of Light. Pray, do not feel daunted by the deeds of legends. We do not ask you to become a Warrior of Light, only that you do what you can to assist the people of Gridania. Great and small, every contribution counts. I hope that you will play your part. I suppose that concludes your registration and a brief summary of all’s happened.”

“Good enough,” said Galen. “Perhaps I can piece together what fragments all of you have of this Calamity. Write it down so that the trouble of forgetting won’t happen again. You shouldn’t forget the past.”

“Are we planning on becoming a scribe, then?” Miounne asked with a twinkle in her dark brown eyes. “We do need those who can jot down the deeds of others.”

“Well, like I said, I’m on an adventure of discovery,” said Galen. “Discovering what this Calamity was and how it happened will be an interesting adventure, don’t you think? I’m sure many still have lingering questions even after five years.”

“Many do. It mayhap put minds at ease if they knew why or how it all happened. Give some sense of closure as well. I know quite a few who have lost loved ones in the Calamity.”

“Well, let someone separated from these events to tell their story then,” said Galen, his glowing teal blue eyes narrowing in thought under the hood. “Outside of my plans to record what all happened, I’m a skillful healer. Does Gridania have need of someone with my talents?”

“Indeed we do!” said Miounne. “We always welcome new arrivals with talents for conjuring. That is the art of healing here.”

“Not certain on conjuring,” said Galen. “But I am a powerful adept in healing magic. I hope my skills will serve your nation well.”

“Whatever your talents. We do need powerful healers here. I do suggest speaking with Brother E-Sumi-Yan of the Conjurer’s Guild. He may be able to tell you where you need to go to put your talents to the test.” 

“I’ll be compensated, correct?” he asked. “I’ll need some for room and board.”

“The room is guaranteed,” she said. “Food you will have to buy on your own. We make sure our adventurers have a place to stay once the day of toil is done.”

“That’s good,” Galen said with a slight stretch of his arms. “I had a bit of a long trip. Wouldn’t mind turning in for an early morning of...adventuring.”

“First though, I do suggest that you visit our aetheryte,” she said. “To attune yourself to it. It is our mode of fast traveling, a key device for the ever wandering adventurer.”

“Right.”

Just before she was about to go into her next suggestion, Galen’s keen nose picked up the smell of blood just outside. He looked away to the sounds of men calling out with a sense of urgency. Swiftly, he parted from Mother Miounne and came to the front door of the Canopy to find several wood wailers baring wounded up the path. One, he could smell, was in terrible shape. Blood dripped from the stretcher they carried him in. That one was not long for this world.

“I passed up a vacation in the Canary Islands for this…” he sighed. “Well, time to make myself useful.”

He darted off towards the group of soldiers bringing back their wounded. Only a fleeting call of his name from Mother Miounne gave him pause. He shrugged it off and continued on, following them through the winding paths of cobblestone and twisting wooden covered walkways. 

The sky grew dark with the coming of clouds and thunder rumbled in the distance. A drizzle drenched even his gray and white robes. The white pelts became damp and slick. Galen came upon the opening of a tree leading down into a vast cavern. A flag showed a branch on a field of crimson. Citizens and adventurers came walking to and from the cavern’s opening, carrying branch wands or staves. 

Conjurers. Though the term to Galen meant something completely different than it did here.

As Miounne stated, conjurers were the healers of Gridania.

Galen filed his way through the tunnel and to an opening of a dark, but tranquil chamber. Only a few lights lit the room. 

He spied the soldiers lowering their comrades down at the center of the room before what looked to be a boy barely in his adolescence. The boy’s hair was blonde, and two sharp horns tipped blacked grew from the crown of his head. He wore a hooded robe with various pouches and pockets dangling from straps and belts. His staff was crooked, fashioned from a gnarled branch with leaves still sprouting from it. Despite his dark attire and those horns, Galen could sense no malice from this individual. What he could sense was wisdom beyond the boy’s years as if he was in fact much older than what he appeared to be.

A white glowing, but soft light radiated from his open hand over the wounded wood wailer. The man was already convulsing, a sign of hemorrhage. It was not stopping.

Galen darted forth, knowing that man did not have long.

One of the wood wailers barred his path.

“What in the name of the elementals do you think you are doing?” asked the wood wailer.

“That man is about to die, I can heal him!” Galen said.

“No worries, he is in good care by Brother E-Sumi-Yan. Now, bugger off. You will only be a nuisance.”

Galen slumped and sighed. He did not have the time to argue with the guard. Before the wood wailer could say anything else, or do anything else, Galen vanished only to reappear right before the one called Brother E-Sumi-Yan.

“Pray is aught amiss?” the horned boy asked, the light from his hand doused.

Rather than explain his intrusion, Galen set about his work. His platinum paw slowly roved over the wound and the soldier’s convulsing ceased. He was breathing steadily. Lifting his head up, he looked upon the hooded person who healed him, then touching the thick, bloody spot in his armor. While the armor still was stained, the wound underneath was no longer there. E-Sumi-Yan reached out to touch the man’s stomach, and then prodded the hole in the armor. All he felt was skin.

Not even a scar was left behind.

He returned his golden eyes upon Galen.

“You healed this man,” he said. “With naught a strain in your body.”

“He was hemorrhaging and you were not closing the wound fast enough,” said Galen. “No offense to your skills, but I could do it much faster. And speed is what he needed.”

Galen turned to the wood wailer.

“Can you stand?” he asked.

“I believe so,” said the wood wailer. 

Galen slowly helped him to his feet.

“You may still feel some discomfort,” said Galen. “But that will pass eventually. I do suggest not to go running around with scissors for a while.”

The other soldiers took hold of their comrade and slowly walked him out. Brother E-Sumi-Yan tilted his head up to the rather tall, hooded healer before him.

“I have never seen you around the Conjurer’s Guild before,” he said. “Pray tell, who might you be?”

“Galen. And I’m new. Just got off the carriage. Heard you all are in need of a healer.”

“We are in want of new conjurers,” said E-Sumi. “But in the manner to which that man be not in biddance of the elementals. Yet, your ability was undeterred––nigh, instantaneous.”

“Yeah,” Galen chuckled, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “T’wern’t nothin’. It’s...just what I do.”

“Draw upon ones own life force is oft seen as reckless if not fatal. Never have I suggested my students do so heedlessly.”

Galen smiled under the cowl: “You have your ways, I have mine. It did the work, right?”

He glanced back towards the opening to see the soldiers slowly file out with their newly healed comrade. The soldier was still touching his middle to find any evidence of where the wound still remain, or perhaps a scar. Galen knew there would not be.

“I have one other student who is just as reckless,” said E-Sumi. “Drawing upon her life force as well. I will not have another.”

“Fine,” said Galen. “I wasn’t looking to be your student. I was hoping to be of assistance. And as for the life force bit, my well is deep and endless.”

He turned to fully face the boy standing barey beyond his hip line and bent over. With a talon, he brushed the edges of his hood away only revealing the platinum snout to the Guildmaster. A polite, but rather toothy smile spread across his face.

“I am here to help,” he said. “But I don’t need an introductory course on healing people. And I am far more timeless than you appear to be. Healing a gouged out middle is easy for me. Imagine what that can do for you? Someone who can just snap his fingers and a broken leg is not only set, but miraculously healed, no more swelling, no more risk of blood clots. Another snap, deadly poison...gone! Another snap, disease...disappear. And they can get back to defending your lands from those birdmen I saw on the way up.”

E-Sumi was speechless, staring into the glowing teal orbs still in the shadow of the white and gray hood. A moment came and went, at last he was able to gather up the words to speak.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Galen. Just Galen. And I’m an adventurer looking for a discovery, learn a little history here and there.”

Galen leaned up.

“I’m curious about Gridania,” he said. “And what the Calamity did to it.” Galen spun upon the balls of his feet, and then bowed, extending his right arm behind him, and his left folded to his chest. “My healing talents are at the service of Gridania and its people.”

“And what species are you,” asked E-Sumi. “And where do you hail from?”

“I suppose these are interview questions we need to get over to see I’m cut out for the job, huh?” Galen asked. “I could ask the same for you. I’ve never seen a young man with horns before. You sure you’re not demon possessed?”

“I will endure your jest for the moment,” said E-Sumi, crossing his arms. “I am called a Padjal. Now, please answer my questions if you wish to be of assistance to my guild. What are you?”

Galen relaxed and raised up.

“Well, you see,” the words stuttered, breaking off momentarily. “That’s a…” 

It hit him suddenly. In a mere moment, the world was rushing all around him, spinning as his horizon tilted sideways.

_ King Bahamut! _

_ Bahamut! _

“Stop...calling me thaaaa….”

E-Sumi backed away as he came toppling down to his side, his field of view narrowed as blackness ate up his peripheral vision. 

“A dragon?”

Sound and light became muted, E-Sumi’s startled explanation the last muffled sounds before all the lights shut out.

The sweet embrace of darkness enfolded him in it's grasp, his body going slack at its final touch.


	2. An Echo

“It cannot be,” she whispered.

“What do you make of this, Sister?” asked E-Sumi-Yan. “This dragon.”

Kan-E-Senna, the Elder Seedseer lowered her staff, walked silently around the bed to observe the “adventurer” from every angle.

An “adventurer” she could only describe as a dragon hiding within a layered and furred cloak. 

The bed was no were near the size to properly accommodate its hulking form, lengthy tail spilling limply over the edge. 

But the dragon’s scales were what caught her eye— unlike any she had seen before. 

_ Platinum.  _

As if the dragon’s scales were carved from the purest, shimmering sheets of the precious metal.

The dragon’s mane cascaded down from behind his head, minted from the same platinum as his scales.

No dragon upon Eorzea had a mane— at least…none that she could clearly recollect.

Upon the lower jaw were four pairs of black, triangular markings. They appeared not to be made of any facial paint.

The dragon’s wings spilled out from under the heavy cloak, massive appendages hanging limply at his side. They were framed by two sets of smaller wings, above and below the larger set. 

_ Six _ wings in total, the tips of each dipped in molten gold. 

It was…familiar to her. 

The memories were there inside her mind, beckoning to rise to the surface the more she gazed upon the dragon’s form. 

Her eyes were drawn to the headpiece upon the dragon’s brow. The headpiece looked more like a crown of three long prongs, one upon the center of his forehead, and the other two protecting his temples and horns. A single jewel glimmered at its center, shining with the light of the sun. 

_ She knew this crown. _

A delicate finger reached out to touch the metal, the shape etching into her memory— an afterimage just out of reach, traced with pain. 

_ She had to know more. _

Kan-E-Senna reached, hands parting the dragon’s robes.

It’s chest was broad, deep, and enormous, armored with a golden harness that traced its curves. It was clearly for decorative, projecting an air of authority more than protection, given that it left the dragon’s abdomen exposed. 

“The similarities to the Dreadwyrm are...disturbing,” she replied. “Mayhap more than coincidental. I cannot say for certain. Yet, his aether, if you would name it so, feels off.”

“Off?”

“As if it were not aether at all. Primals are born of aether, feast upon aether. Though, I feel no aether being consumed. I do not recall the Dreadwyrm being platinum either. But the rest of the details are...very concerning. Did this one by any chance tell you what his purpose in Gridania was?”

“Merely to be of service,” replied the Guildmaster. “And he certainly proved that he could be as such, when he healed a sticker wood wailer of his wounds with little apparent effort. He just…barged into the guild and healed the man.”

He paused, considering the events more critically.

“Anyone who came into my guild with such an air of superiority and overconfidence would normally see themselves dismissed immediately. Especially if they spoke a tall tale of their deeds, instead of proving them. Yet this stranger did so, and in so doing proved he has justification to speak so arrogantly of his abilities—even if such overconfidence is distasteful.”

She leaned down to take hold of the leading digit of the dragon’s wing and fanned the wing out. 

“I will never forget the wings that could blot out cities under their darkness. Their shape, their details.”

“The Dreadwyrm did not have six wings,” said E-Sumi-Yan, leaning down to pull upon one of the smaller wings.

“The most I have seen of dragons,” she began. “Four. Never six.”

“Then, to whom do we behold on this bed?”

“Galen…” whispered a voice. Their eyes came upon the dragon who slowly raised his head from the pillow. Two eyes like blue white stars came upon them. “Would you like it if I decided to pull your horns while you slept?”

Galen rumbled, lifting a claw to his head. The last thing he could remember was healing a person and then blacking out. Everything else was fuzzy. His head pounded, his temples throbbed. 

“Where am I?” he asked.

“An infirmary,” replied Kan-E-Senna. “Under guard.”

“Guard? Did I do something wrong?”

“We are rarely visited by dragons. Gridania has an alliance with our northern neighbors Ishgard. At this moment, Ishgard is deep in a war against the Dravanian Horde.”

“Okay,” Galen shrugged. “Is this supposed to concern me?”

“Are you not from Dravania?” E-Sumi-Yan asked.

“Where?”

“Dravania, where the dragons hail.”

“Obviously, I haven’t heard of the place, which means I’m not from there. So, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

The padjal turned to each other, a look of confusion passed between them.

“Where are you from?” Kan-E-Senna asked.

“Not from Eorzea,” said Galen. “Not from Dravania, either.”

“Where are you from?”

He sighed, lowering his head.

“Far away. Further than probably you’ve traveled. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Your name is Galen?” Kan-E-Senna asked.

“Galen Garath,” he replied. “I’m sure there are other places that have dragons that aren’t involved with this war with your fellow ally. I’m not here to stir trouble. And I apologize that my appearance troubles you.”

“Mayhap we will place you on a trial. To prove that you mean no ill to any of us.”

“Whatever entertains you,” he said. “But since I’ve caused no crime, I shouldn’t be treated like some criminal. I’m only here to help, like any adventurer.”

“Pray tell me why a dragon fashion the notion to become an adventurer?” she asked.

“Sitting around in a cave over a hoard gets boring.”

Galen smiled softly.

“Boredom does motivate the slothful,” said E-Sumi-Yan. “Mayhap if it troubles you so, Elder Seedseer, I shall take our friend under my charge. The Conjurer’s Guild could use a powerful healer such as he.”

“A chaperone,” said Kann-E-Senna. “Acceptable measure, then. Will you agree to this, Galen?”

“If it helps for you to warm up to me,” he began. “Sure. I want to learn what all has happened in these five years. And maybe the mystery of this Calamity. I hear many do not remember the specific details. Which troubles me.”

He pulled his legs out from the covers and placed them upon the floor. Galen slowly rose to his feet, letting the robes slip from his shoulders. Knees began to buckle and the dragon stumbled back to the floor. He rumbled his frustrations. E-Sumi-Yan knelt to him and took hold under the arm, hefting him back to his feet.

“Feels like I had one too many,” Galen whisper. “Someone threw a party and I made friends with the bartender? I––tend to do that.”

“You like the taste of freshly brewed spirits,” Kan-E-Senna’s shoulders relaxed.

“It helps chase away the troubles of the world.”

His face crossed, perplexed.

“Why did I faint?” he asked.

“You did not call upon the elements to aid you in healing,” said E-Sumi. “I oft heard dragons are powerful but not all-powerful, perhaps you just exhausted yourself.”

“I don’t exhaust myself when I heal,” said Galen. “To set your thoughts at ease, the well of power I dip into just to heal is––massive and never ending.”

E-Sumi tilted his head, eyes narrowed in skepticism.

“Have you felt exhausted before?” asked Kann-E-Senna.

“Yeah, when I got on the carriage to Gridania, my head was swimming. The guy on the carriage said it was aether sickness.”

Galen’s frilled ear twitched when he heard E-Sumi whisper to the Elder Seedseer: “Primals do not suffer from aether sickness.”

She rose a delicate hand to him and the Guildmaster backed away.

“Tell me, people refer to this thing who caused the Calamity five years ago the ‘dreadwyrm’,” Galen began. “Did it have another name?”

“Bahamut.”

The soft face shifted, the brow curled into worry. His deep blue eyes become glassy and lost.

“B-Bahamut?” he asked. “You say? That’s...unfortunate.”

“Do you recognize the name?”

Galen straightened his back and leaned against the wall. His arms folded to his chest, his head bowed, wagging. Bahamut became a name to curse on this world.

“Is it your name?” Kan-E-Senna asked, coming closer to him.

Galen’s eyes widened, broken from his thoughts.

“Now why would you assume Bahamut is my name? I already gave you my name. Do I look like the dragon that caused your Calamity?”

Kan-E-Senna passed in front of him, lifting a finger to her chin. Her pale blue eyes narrowed in thought.

“There is...fear in your reaction. If what you have said is true and you do not know of the Calamity...you know of that name from elsewhere.”

Galen shook his head, his back slumped.

“Bahamut,” he began. “Was a legendary figure where I come from. And he was no destroyer. Quite the contrary, Bahamut was in fact a serpent...or fish in some circles, who held up the world upon his back. There was a tribe of people who claimed that their prophet went to see Bahamut and was scared out of his wits upon the sight.”

“Bahamut is a...fish?” asked E-Sumi-Yan.

“Yeah,” said Galen. “Don’t know why you would associate a giant Calamity-causing dragon with Bahamut.”

“The Allagans know the Primal as Bahamut,” said Kan-E-Senna. “That is why we associate the Dreadwyrm with that name.”

“Well, these Allagans are wrong,” Galen huffed, crossing his arms. “Bahamut’s a fish.”

She shook her head in doubt to the platinum scaled dragon’s words. Whoever he is, he was not the Dreadwyrm. He sounded more like an idiot.

“You asked the question,” said Galen, picking up on her mood. “Not my fault you all think some giant fish is this Dreadwyrm.”

“A fish,” said Kan-E-Senna. “Very well, keep your secrets so long as it amuses you. But you will tell us who you are either by word or your actions.”

Galen shrugged.

He straightened out the layers of his robes as he slowly rose from the bed. The inner, white layer folded closed and tied with only the great chest and gold ornaments showing through low neckline. Then came the secondary soft gray layer tied much the same way. Galen knelt to take hold of the heavy outer layer, a long cloak of sorts with billowing sleeves, the furs and armor draping over the shoulders. He put it on, but kept the cloak open. The long dark gray scarf was at last thrown around his neck. Despite the elegance and detail of the garments, with how they were thrown on, they looked quite sloppy upon the platinum dragon.

The six great wings were concealed beneath the heavy cloak’s many cape-like layers, hidden so well they might not exist at all.

Then, the dragon reached back to pull forward the enormous, enveloping hood. A pale hand reached out to stop him.

“That will not be necessary,” said Kan-E-Senna.

“I suppose when I was dragged out,” Galen began. “Everyone in town saw what I looked like.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. No hood, then.”

He shook his long, full mane, the wavy tresses and fringes came to rest over the front of his shoulders, while the rest cascaded down to his lower back. A platinum talon pulled upon one lock of the mane to tuck it behind a frilled ear. The clawed hands now tucked into the billowing sleeves in front of his abdomen.

“I’m ready for my first assignment,” Galen said to E-Sumi-Yan. “Who needs healing?”

The Padjal then dipped his head.

“Come hither with me to the Conjuring Guild.”


End file.
